An eerie quiet filled the dining room and the light that filtered through the terrace doors didn’t reach the corners. Anyone could have been hiding in the shadowy depths, and Trish couldn’t see them. A chill shook her, but whether from her wet clothes or the room’s spooky atmosphere, she couldn’t tell.
A noise sounded behind her, but when she whipped around, no one was there. Muffled voices filtered through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, but Trish was certain the noise, like the scrape of a chair against the floor, had come from behind, not the kitchen.
With her eyes accustomed to the murk, she hurried through the darkened room to the elevators in the gloomy, empty hall. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone dogged her steps. In the elevator, she pressed her back into a corner, on guard and surveying the empty car until it opened onto her floor.
Feeling foolish at her skittishness, she hurried to her room. She went in and locked the door. Then, remembering that all hotels had master keys, she grabbed a straight chair and shoved its back under the knob so no one could force entry without her hearing. She also checked the locks on the balcony doors, although only Spider-Man could gain access at that height.
After stripping off her wet clothes, she placed a call to the hospital and was connected to a nurse in the recovery room.
“Your sister underwent surgery just fine,” the nurse assured her, “but she hasn’t come out of the anesthesia yet.”
“When she’s awake, will you tell her I called and that I’ll be there this evening?”
The nurse agreed.
Trish stepped into the hot shower, soaked the aches from her muscles and washed the mud from her skin and hair. Doubts and questions about O’Neill hammered her, but she had answers for none of them, nothing to clarify her feelings for the man, nothing to either clear or implicate him in the attacks on Deb and herself.
Later, after blow-drying her hair, she fell across the bed, pulled a handmade quilt over herself and dropped into a deep sleep.
And dreamed of O’Neill.
Deep in sleep, she relived every moment of his kiss and reveled in the remembered warmth of his embrace. Her body stirred with longing. She wanted him, more than any man she’d ever met. Her doubts vanished as he made her skin tingle, her heart sing. She found herself back at Quinn Stevens’s private hideaway with O’Neill. Only this time, when O’Neill scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, he didn’t leave. Her every nerve ending hummed with desire and when he laid her on the bed, she pulled him beside her.
He slid his hands beneath her blouse and his touch scorched her skin, setting her afire. She lifted her face to his kiss and opened her mouth to him. Breathing her name like a prayer, he consumed her with a kiss that rocked her to the toes. Frantic with need, she tugged his sweater over his shoulders to expose the hard, smooth muscles of his chest. He pulled away and for an instant, she feared he’d changed his mind, but he quickly shed his clothes. Returning to bed, he undressed her with delicious slowness, trailing his fingers across her supersensitive skin, kissing her neck and breasts until her body screamed for release. Positioning himself above her, he caught her gaze with his deep blue eyes.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Despite her need, she hesitated.
And her dream shifted. She was no longer at Stevens’s hideaway but standing in the ghostly forest of dead evergreens. The Cherokee warrior with his dark face as ancient as the surrounding mountains faced her. Wisdom and sympathy glimmered in his black eyes.
“O’Neill,” the Cherokee said, “he is special to you?”
“Are you asking if I love him?”
“The Cherokee do not have such a word.”
“No word for love?”
“We would say that he walks in your soul.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“Then it is true?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes he frightens me.”
The ancient voice was gentle but probing. “Does he frighten you, or do you fear yourself?”
“How can I be afraid of myself?”
“Do you fear O’Neill will hurt you?”
“What if I let him walk in my soul,” Trish mumbled in her sleep, “but he doesn’t let me walk in his?”
“You are in great danger.”
“From O’Neill?”
“Peril is all around you. Trust no one. But for now, you must sleep.”
“I am asleep. This is just a dream.”
The ancient warrior’s stern features softened with a hint of a smile. “The test is yet to come.”
A LOUD KNOCK at the door wakened Trish, and a glance at the clock indicated she’d been asleep for over two hours. Pulling on a robe, she went to the door, unwedged the chair and checked through the peephole. Ludie May, with her weathered face like a dried apple, stood outside with a room service cart.
Trish opened the door a crack.
“The manager sent tea,” the maid said.
“O’Neill?”
Ludie May shook her head. “Ms. Conover. Mr. O’Neill must’ve taken some time off. Ain’t seen him for a couple days.”
Trish stepped aside and Ludie May rolled in the room service cart.
“Has the hunting party returned?”
“Not yet. You and the Averys are the only ones here.”
Trish did a silent tally of the guest list. “Where’s Tiffany Slocum?”
“Miz Slocum checked out this morning.”
“And Mr. Redlin’s companion?”
“She left half an hour ago in the helicopter.”
“The helicopter’s gone?” Trish didn’t know whether to feel relieved or anxious. “Is it coming back?”
Ludie May shrugged. “Don’t know.”
She removed the cloth that covered the cart to reveal a silver tea service and a plate of cakes and sandwiches. “Anything else you need?”
“No, thank you, Ludie May.” The maid turned to leave. “Except to know what to wear to dinner.”
“Ain’t fancy tonight. Folks’ll be tired after hunt-in’.” She left and closed the door behind her.
Ludie May’s dialect had turn tired to tarred, and Trish smiled at the image it conjured—until she remembered that one of those hunters had taken shots at her. She hurried to wedge the chair under the doorknob again before pouring herself a cup of tea and placing another call to the hospital.
DRESSED IN A green-and-russet plaid skirt and a forest-green twin set, Trish took the elevator to the first floor. An uneasy quiet hung in the hallways, and the persistent sense that she wasn’t alone raised prickles on the back of her neck. She blamed the unsettling feeling on her strange erotic dream of O’Neill and another ghostly visitation. After dinner, she would put both behind her after O’Neill drove her to Asheville to join Deb. She looked forward to leaving the eerie confines of Endless Sky, and the prospect of saying goodbye to O’Neill filled her with both regret and relief.
Would she stay if her life hadn’t been threatened and Deb didn’t need her? Probably not. Her attraction to O’Neill was a dead-end street. Although he appeared attractive and compassionate, she knew nothing about what lay beneath his enticing and mysterious facade. She’d longed for passion, but O’Neill, with his closely guarded secrets, frightened her. She tried to assure herself she’d be better off concentrating her hopes for the future on Coach Brad Larson—bland, predictable, and totally nonthreatening—but she couldn’t work up much enthusiasm.
Her practical intentions, however, didn’t prevent her pulse from speeding when she caught sight of O’Neill in the dining room. He’d changed from his muddy clothes into black wool slacks, a black turtleneck sweater, black blazer and black boots, an unsettling study in darkness. The color accentuated his deep tan and the midnight-blue of his eyes. Glancing up, he met her gaze, and her heart stopped at the heat that flashed between them, even at a distance.
Before she could cross the room to meet him, Chad Englewood shoved back his chair at a nearby tabl
e and rushed toward O’Neill.
“Where the hell have you been?” Chad’s angry drunken voice filled the dining room and stopped all conversation. The man thrust his face close to O’Neill’s, invading his space.
O’Neill held his ground and cocked an eyebrow. Chad had to be blind not to note the blue flame of anger in his eyes.
“And how is that your business?” O’Neill’s low voice, tight with control, carried through the room.
Chad’s pale complexion turned purple with rage, a vein bulged in his neck and he punched O’Neill’s chest with his index finger. “I came here to find Quinn Stevens. You’re the only one who knows where he is, and you’d damn well better tell me.”
The slur in Chad’s voice and the slight stagger in his bearing indicated he’d overindulged in pre-dinner drinks.
“You should have a seat and cool off, Mr. Englewood,” O’Neill said with deadly calm.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Chad was a big man at six-two, but O’Neill was taller. The difference in height didn’t deter Chad from grabbing the lapels of O’Neill’s blazer. The man might as well have tried to shake a mountain. O’Neill stood immovable, solid as a rock.
“Tell me how to find Stevens,” Chad bellowed.
“And lose my job?” O’Neill said quietly. “You’re not thinking straight.”
Two men rose from Chad’s table and flanked him, each with a hand on his arm.
“Chill out, Englewood,” the first one warned.
“Kiss off, Werner,” Chad growled between clenched teeth. “This isn’t your fight.”
“It’s not O’Neill’s, either,” the second man said.
“Easy for you to say, Redlin,” Chad said. “You’ve got your millions. Quinn Stevens stole mine, and I intend to get them back.”
“Slugging me won’t get your money back.” With amazing ease, O’Neill pried Chad’s fists from his lapels. “But if you’ll stop by my office in the morning, I’ll give you the name of Mr. Stevens’s attorney. Have your lawyer contact him. Let the legal eagles fight it out.”
O’Neill’s tone, as smooth and deadly as a sheathed knife, stopped Chad cold. The man stepped back, stumbled before regaining his bal ance and nodded. “Good idea. We’ll talk tomorrow. Now I need another drink.”
O’Neill flashed a warning to the hovering waiter and Trish guessed that when Chad’s drink was served, the alcohol content would be negligible.
Austin Werner and Michael Redlin escorted Chad to his table and O’Neill crossed the room toward Trish.
“Sorry you had to witness that,” he said.
“You handled it well.”
“Goes with the job. The guest is always right.”
“Even when he’s drunk and obnoxious?”
“Especially then.” His smile lifted the corners of his generous mouth, exposed the white perfection of his teeth and created a dizzy sensation, like dropping too fast in an elevator, in the pit of her stomach. “I’ve reserved us a table.”
He took her arm and led her across the room to a table for two, tucked into a secluded, candlelit corner.
The intimacy threatened her and she longed for the relative safety of the company of the other guests. She doubted anyone would attack her in front of witnesses, but she didn’t trust her feelings for O’Neill. “Isn’t this a bit obvious?”
“Part of our cover, remember?” He bent low and spoke softly in her ear as he pulled out her chair.
His breath against her skin threw her heartbeat into a crazy rhythm. “What’s the point of a charade? I’m leaving after dinner.”
With athletic grace, O’Neill rounded the table and sat across from her. His smile faded and was replaced by an expression she couldn’t read. “How’s your sister?”
“She’s doing great, out of recovery and back in her room.” Trish gave him a condensed report of her conversation with Debra.
O’Neill waited for the waiter to serve their salads. “I’m glad she’s doing well, because you can’t leave tonight.”
“Why not?” Trish blurted, so loud that Mrs. Avery, seated at the nearest table, turned and fixed her with a disapproving stare.
“The parkway ranger called an hour after the hunting party returned,” O’Neill continued. “Melting snow caused a mudslide across our access road. Not even the Hummer can cross it. And it could take days before it’s cleared.”
Trish took a deep breath. Maybe flying at night, especially with her eyes closed, wouldn’t be as bad as she feared. “Then I’ll take the chopper.”
“Can’t,” O’Neill said with a shake of his head.
“Why not?”
“Look out the window.”
Trish glanced outside. Ragged flags of mist streamed across the lawn, obscuring the view.
“Visibility’s down to zero,” O’Neill said. “No one can fly in this weather.”
She was in a nightmare and couldn’t wake up. Deb needed her, someone at Endless Sky was trying to kill her, a Cherokee ghost haunted her dreams, but she was stuck here. Stuck with O’Neill, who was either the man of her dreams or her worst nightmare. “How long before the clouds lift?”
“Sometimes we’re socked in for days.” He took a bite of salad, his appetite obviously unaffected by the news. “Depends on how quickly this front moves through and the winds shift.”
Her hunger had disappeared completely. She was stranded on an isolated mountaintop with someone who’d tried to kill both her and her sister. She didn’t have a clue who that attacker was, but Chad Englewood’s outburst had revealed a murderous desperation. He’d had blood in his eye when he’d confronted O’Neill. He sat now, glaring across the room at them as he chugged another drink.
“Do you think Chad could have been our shooter?” she asked.
O’Neill reached across the table and took her hand. His eyes were warm. “Pretend you’re enjoying yourself. You look like you’re ready to bolt and run.”
O’Neill had nailed her intentions exactly. With difficulty, she forced a smile.
“Better,” O’Neill said with a searing look that would have melted her bones if they hadn’t been frozen with fright. “I spoke with Judd Raye when he brought the group back from hunting. He said most of them stayed together throughout the day. The only ones he lost track of for an extended period were Chad and Victoria. Both had rifles with scopes. Both, according to Judd, are crack shots.”
Trish knotted her forehead. “But why would either Chad or Victoria want to shoot you. Or me? It doesn’t make sense.”
Something flickered in O’Neill’s dark eyes, but he merely shook his head. “I agree. Chad is angry because I won’t reveal my boss’s whereabouts, but that’s no reason for murder. And what would Victoria’s motive be?”
Jealousy? Trish thought.
Victoria had admitted she was in search of a wealthy husband. But O’Neill, while he had a good job with great benefits, wasn’t in Victoria’s social or economic league, which ruled out jealousy of Trish as a motive.
“Maybe whoever shot at us wasn’t anyone from the hotel,” she said. “Same for whoever pushed Deb. Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place.”
“I filled in Captain Metcalf on this morning’s shooting,” O’Neill said. “He has his deputies checking the area for strangers and suspicious activities.”
“But the wilderness is huge. And the mountains are filled with tourists. What are the chances the deputies will find someone, especially if he’s trying to hide?”
“Metcalf’s a good man. He’ll do his best.” O’Neill squeezed her hand. “And I’ll get you out of here as soon as possible. I promise.”
The waiter removed her untouched salad and served mountain trout, but Trish merely toyed with her food. Throughout the meal, the voice of the Cherokee who had haunted her dreams echoed in her mind.
Peril is all around you. Trust no one.
“Have you ever used a gun?” O’Neill asked.
His question caught her by surprise. “I don’t like hunti
ng. I could never kill a living creature.”
“I’m talking about a handgun.” He tapped the inside pocket of his blazer. “I want you to take this after dinner and keep it with you tonight, just in case.”
She shook her head. “I’d be more of a danger to myself than anyone else. Shooting yourself in the foot is a cliché, but there’s truth in its origin.”
“What if I ask Ludie May to stay with you?”
Trish felt her skin crawl. She’d already felt frightened when she entered the dining room. Now O’Neill was pushing her toward the edge of panic. “Do you really believe someone will try to harm me here, with so many people around?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I just thought having a weapon might ease your mind.”
She patted her lips with her linen napkin, laid it beside her plate and stood. “Getting out of Endless Sky will give me peace of mind. For now, I’m going to my room. I should call to let Deb know I won’t be seeing her tonight.”
O’Neill rose from his chair. “I’ll come with you.”
Trish shook her head. “You should take care of your other guests.”
Before O’Neill could protest, she pivoted on her heel and hurried through the dining room. A quick survey revealed that Chad and Victoria had left before her. Trish approached the elevator, but a hand on her arm stopped her.
She whirled around to find Victoria, who’d apparently just stepped from the ladies’ room.
“You’re a shrewd one,” the redhead said with a scowl. “Really cozied up to O’Neill, didn’t you? Is he as good in bed as he looks?” Victoria, like Chad, appeared wasted. Her blue eyes glittered and she swayed slightly.
Trish ignored the question. “Did you enjoy your hunting trip?”
Victoria’s bright red lips turned downward in a pout. “I had two perfect specimens in my sights, but they both got away.”
Suspicions galloped through Trish’s mind. “I heard you were a good shot.”
Victoria’s expression turned sly. “I am.” She raised her right hand, pointed her index finger at Trish’s head and cocked her thumb in imitation of a gun. “Next time, I won’t miss.”
Victoria’s hostility stunned Trish. After a few drinks, the open, friendly socialite had turned threatening and obnoxious, and Trish wanted nothing more to do with her, at least not until after she’d sobered up. “Good night, Victoria.”
Mystique Page 14